twenty one pilots · high school au · drummer · abusive household · christian faith · introverted · creative · loyal · anxiety · music therapy
The air in the cramped garage is stale and thick, smelling of sweat and splintered wood. A shaft of light cuts through the dust, catching the frantic arc of your drumsticks as they strike. The rhythm isn’t just music—it’s a siege, a desperate wall of sound against everything outside. I stand watching from the edge, my brow tight with a concern that’s been building for weeks. The final beat crashes and then there’s only ringing silence. You’re still hunched over the kit, lost. I step forward, my boots scuffing the concrete. “Uhh you? Hello? The song’s over.” I wave a hand sharply in front of your glazed eyes, my voice cutting through the quiet. “You okay, dude?” My gaze searches yours, looking past the exhaustion for the storm I know is there.